


It Hasn't Taught You When To Quit

by signalbeam



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Coercion, Community: badbadbathhouse, F/M, Police, Police Station
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-10
Updated: 2009-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:26:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signalbeam/pseuds/signalbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In September, Naoto tries to assemble the puzzle. Adachi's there to scatter the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Hasn't Taught You When To Quit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the badbadbathhouse prompt: _Anon would like to see a fic involving Adachi/Naoto, consensual, no 'shadow' personalities._

It was not an ideal situation. Naoto would readily admit that. September in Inaba came softly with the wind. The murder case was five months unsolved, and whose fault was that? The police's, for their refusal to accept her theories. Her body and her age, for betraying her on the most crucial case she had ever taken. Her mind, for drawing blanks, just when she most needed an _answer_.

She had reviewed Mitsuo's confession so many times she could quote both the interrogator and Mitsuo himself. She had watched the video so many times that she could sit before the mirror and replicate Mitsuo's expressions, for what little good it did her. What was going on in Mitsuo's head? What was on his mind? Half-truths and whole truths and white lies spun around in her head, as though in a centrifuge. The words on the page were wavering, twisted themselves into circles. Her office, if one could call it that, had sofa that doubled as a bed, but she wouldn't be sleeping tonight. All she needed was a bit of rest. She set her head against the edge of the table and closed her eyes.

She opened her eyes hours later with a jerk, bumped her knee against the table. Someone had turned the light on, draped a coat over her while she had been sleeping: black, a bit worn. The sleeves were fraying. A coffee stain, on the right lapel. Adachi's.

Her entire body smelled of summer sweet sweat. Her shirt clung to her, distracting and damp. She hung the coat over the back of the chair, and groped about for the case files. Not there. The file cabinet was still locked. She opened them anyway, just in case Adachi had removed the keys from her person while she was asleep and took the files away.

Adachi reentered the room while she was rooting through the cabinets. Without looking up, she said, "Where did you put my case files?"

"Sorry, Naoto-kun. Dojima-san wanted me to look over them, and I lost the keys, so I figured I'd swipe your copy."

Naoto turned around, and there was Adachi, with a mug of coffee and a brown envelope in his hands. He placed both on her table.

"Thought you might take the coffee as an apology," he said.

The coffee was a pale beige. Naoto looked up at Adachi, pained. She was not a child. She did not need someone to add milk and sugar into her coffee.

"I don't drink."

"Then do you mind?" Adachi sat on her couch, brought the mug to his mouth. "I'm beat. Dojima-san's got me working the case like mad. Don't see what the point is, y'know? Case is open and shut. Killer's confessed." Adachi was watching her from the couch, a lazy, half-lidded look that made Naoto--uncomfortable. She couldn't place why. "You agree with him, don't you, Naoto-kun?"

"There are some holes in Mitsuo's confession."

"The guy's crazy. There's bound to be a few."

"Then he'll be let off the hook because of the insanity defense," Naoto said. The bottle of water she kept on her table had gone warm while she was sleeping. She unscrewed the cap and drank anyway. "The evidence points only to Mitsuo killing Mr. Morooka, but not Saki Konishi nor Mayumi Yamano."

"So you think there's a second killer?" Adachi asked.

Naoto could almost see the tension radiating off his body, but, for the life of her, couldn't understand why. "That would be the simplest explanation for the discrepancies between the killing of Mr. Morooka and the other two women, yes," Naoto said. She sat on her table, so she was facing Adachi.

He continued to stare at her, eyes dark and watching.

"You can't prove that," he said.

"I just need more evidence." She moved to get the folder. Adachi put a hand on her knee, and she hissed. "Remove your hand," she said.

"You should stop working," he said. "The stress has been getting to you. Take a break." And then, after a little pause, his hand gripped her leg a bit tighter and said, "I already know you're binding up your chest."

A chill, sharp and fast, spiked down Naoto's spine. She dropped the water. The bottle bounced as it hit the table, and for a moment she was afraid it would spill; it miraculously righted itself. She picked it back up and took a long, stiff drink.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I won't repeat myself, Adachi-san. Remove your hand from my person, or I will--"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Naoto-kun. I just want you to relax." His eyes were eeriely calm, even though his expression was worried and concerned. When he kissed her, she stiffened.

"You have no right to do this to me," she said, but the long hours were catching up to her, and she was suppressing the memory of boys with pale hair flashing through her mind's eye. "You're--"

"Just trying to help. I'm doing you a favor. I don't mind whatever you have in your pants. You're still Detective Shirogane, aren't you?" And his hands were now on her shoulders. "C'mon. Let me relax your mind a little."

This wasn't right. She thought that, but even so gripped his tie and pulled him forward.

"I'm not a girl."

"Of course you aren't."

"Don't patronize me, Adachi." She wrapped her hand around his gun, and he shuddered; when she drew it from the holster and tossed it aside, he hissed, and held onto her waist so hard that she had trouble breathing.

"All right, all right," he said. "You're not a girl. C'mon, do you think anyone would believe me if I said you were? Calm down."

"Close the door," she said, and he did so. As he turned around, she pushed him against the door--no, he _let_ her push him against the door--and forced him into a kiss. Then she undid his belt and jerked his pants down his hips. He groaned, thrust up to meet her hand, already half-hard.

"Fuck," he said, as her hand slid into his pants, teasing it to hardness. "Fuck, Shirogane, you're good. You do this often?" And then he was writhing, as her fingers gripped around his balls, and swearing between his gasps. His head was thrown back, eyes rolling around in the back of his head. The minutes slid by; her mind was on delinquint boys and their strange, handsome leaders. When Adachi came, it was with a sharp, clumsy gasp and a forceful ejaculation. Naoto held onto him until the shaking stopped. Then she pushed Adachi aside with her leg, and prepared to go wash her hands.

"Wait," he said, grabbing onto her pants. "'s not fair if I'm the only one who gets off."

"There's no need for it," Naoto said.

"I told you I'd help you relax."

"That was never your intention. Thank you for returning the case files. Now get out."

Adachi didn't look particularly remorseful or upset that she had seen through him; his eyes were an unwavering blank. He let go of her, slowly. "Fine," he said. "Be that way. I'll be out of here before you return."

"Make sure you clean up after yourself," she said, as the door closed. "The tissues are on the desk."


End file.
